TITLE: "All the King's Women" (1/1) BY: Ten E-MAIL ADDRESS: kristena@ocean.com.au CATEGORY: V, A, "mild" MSR (ie - I think it's friendshipper safe) RATING: PG-13 for suggested violence SUMMARY: Mulder begins falling to pieces after "Paper Hearts", only to find offers of redemption from unlikely sources. TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: Begins in the last scene of "Paper Hearts", mentions "Irresistible". DISCLAIMER: The X-Files and the characters of Mulder and Scully belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting, and are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit will be gained. The X-Files: "All the King's Women" (1/1) by Ten, posted March 1998 The desk drawer slid shut, enclosing the last cloth heart in darkness. Enclosing Mulder's heart as well. He sat and gazed blankly at the wall. No red dot mocked him. Roche's voice in his head did. *How can you be sure it's not her?* Mulder wanted to scream for Scully. But she had already come and gone. Been so gentle with him in between. Undeservedly so. She actually hugged him for one precious heartbeat of time. He was desperate to be held for longer but he couldn't ask or beg or reach. He couldn't believe she could actually bear to touch him. A little girl nearly died because of him today. Because of his desire to find his sister. Mulder ran a shaky hand through his hair. He should go home. /What's the point? You're just going to nightmare. Even though Roche is dead, he's found a way to ensure he hangs around in your dreams for the rest of your life. And he's not even the bad guy here. You are./ God, how he wished that first skeleton they found *was* Sam. Then Abbie Spark's father could still have some hope and Caitlin could be safe and Mulder could give up this useless quest... He toed the floor to swivel the chair around. He didn't hate himself. He loathed himself. Caitlin's screams were burning through his blood, mixing with Samantha's screams, and as he turned his gaze fell on his "I WANT TO BELIEVE" poster. He lunged at it. /Should I have left him?/ Scully asked herself yet again as she approached her car. She knew he would just sit there. Probably tomorrow she would go in and find him in the same position, in the same clothes, only beard stubble marking the lost hours. She did not want Mulder to torture himself. But he had to. He had to know just what he had done. This went beyond a simple ditch. Scully dug in her trenchcoat for her keys. Nothing. She tried her purse and her jacket pockets. Nothing. Annoyed, she retraced her steps, hoping she had just dropped them. She didn't want to go back to the basement office at the moment. She was so drained and there was no energy to put Humpty Dumpty back together again. Tomorrow she would phone him. For tonight, there would be no fairytale. She could not make it better. The keys had to be in the office. Dana bowed to the inevitable, steeling herself. The first thing she saw was the "I WANT TO BELIEVE" poster. Or rather, the remnants of it. The middle was gone, ripped out in a ragged vertical strip. Two thin jags remained clinging to the drawing pins, proclaiming: I W O B E "Mulder?" The chair was empty. It was over near one of the filing cabinets. Dents in the cabinet showed the points of impact. The display cabinets... Scully moved around the desk for a better look. The glass of the cabinet doors lay on the floor with scraps of scrunched poster. "Mulder?" Big shards, Scully noted. Big shards like knives. Scalpels... /No... No! I was only gone for a few minutes - but that's enough time. Why did I leave him?/ Dazed and scared, she looked around, searching the mess to see if glass gave way anywhere to blood. Or a body. Was he still here? Sobbing. Scully looked under Mulder's desk. He sat hunched, knees up, face buried in them, arms wrapped tightly over his head. He was alive. But what had he done to himself? "Mulder -" She dove into the remaining space, squatting to avoid the few bits of glass which encroached this area, and grabbed for him. "Let me see your wrists!" His arms clung more tightly to his body. "Mulder!" she screamed, hauling at him desperately. He planted his feet against one part of the desk and expanded himself, his back flush against the other end of the leg space, filling it, wedging himself. She couldn't see any blood...but... Scully was frantic. "Mulder! LET ME SEE YOUR WRISTS!!" She dug her fingers around one wrist. In her desperation she was able to rip his hand away from his head. No blood. No slash. She dropped the now limp arm and went for his left hand. Clean. Untouched. Shaking, she held it. He must have kicked the cabinets in. Relief blanked her mind and wiped away his crimes for tonight. For now she would let her heart rule over her head. "Mulder..." More softly. The hand yanked out of hers, and he wrapped both arms around his knees. She reached out to stroke his hair and neck. He was trembling and flinched when her fingers moved through his hair. She struggled to find something to say and wondered if she should prise his head up to check his neck too. "Mulder, it's okay. It's all right." His head turned, and he gazed at her through a ravaged face, still resting his cheek against his knees. His neck was unmarred. "It's not all right," he choked out. She knew that. But they were the words Mulder said after rescuing her from Donnie Pfaster. When it felt like her world would never be rebuilt, his words and embrace were just what she needed. Her legs were hurting from her cramped position. Her heart was aching for him. "It will be all right. Now come out, please." "Leave, Scully. Leave me." /Not 'leave me alone'. Leave *me*./ "I'm not leaving until you come out." He uncurled himself and she backed out. Glass crunched as he got to his feet and they moved around to her desk, her checking him out along the way. He slumped down in her chair. "Okay, I'm out. Now you can go home." "No, now I can hold you." "No -" She was already embracing him just as she had before. But this time she was not letting go. Mulder sat as stiff as a board. "No," he said firmly through gritted teeth and tears. "Stop it. The only thing I deserve from you is your request for a transfer." "Mulder, yes, you did a stupid thing. You know you did. But beyond all that, at the very base of things, you still are a good person and have a good heart," she murmured into his hair. "You need to hear that. You mustn't have heard it for so long. And you need this. I've never seen anyone who needs to be held more. And I'm here to do it." "I wish the girl I found on Sunday really was Samantha," he admitted. "The pain would have stopped with me. Or that Roche had shot me when he took my gun in the motel room." Her heart sped up, and she knew he could feel it. "Then Caitlin would have died for sure," she pointed out. /And part of me too./ "You're the one who found her. And even if he did take Samantha, he still killed a lot of other innocent girls, and you were the one whose profile caught him. Who knows how many young lives you saved." "I wish Roche had taken young boys instead. Then he could have taken me in the seventies and all this pain would never have started..." He was slumped against her now, clinging on to her, head against her heart. "Never wish yourself out of existence." She swivelled the chair gently back and forth to rock him, making soothing noises as she did so. A time later he had cried himself out and was half-asleep from exhaustion and comfort. He didn't protest when she got him into his trenchcoat, found her keys and took him back to her apartment. She put him to bed and put herself next to him. So they could remain holding and be reassured the other was there. To survive the nightmares to come. The agonising ten minutes apart at the FBI meant separation was unthinkable tonight. They had to hear each other's heart. Swampscott, Massachusetts A week later: He wished he had some sunflower seeds to crunch in his nervousness, but he didn't have any on him. He had told Scully where he was going and why. She didn't think it was a good idea, but said it was up to him. She offered to come. He was grateful, but said no. "You've given me the strength to do this. I have to do this part by myself." Suddenly it was a struggle to breathe. Mulder balled his hands into fists under the table and concentrated on getting big lungfuls of air. It felt like he was breaking up. He made himself recall Scully's arms around him, keeping the pieces of him in place. She had done that all through a long dark night of nightmares and restless sleep and tormented thoughts. She held him again at every safe opportunity she could when they met in the last seven days. Rebuilding him. Easing the shock and self- loathing. She admitted it was reassuring her as much as him, that they had wanted and needed this closeness. For a long time. He might think he should deprive himself of the holding as his punishment, but he could not deprive her. And although he had intense times where he felt he should be boiled in oil for eternity for his actions, he found the hatred becoming gradually briefer, not all-consuming. It was evolving slowly into self-awareness so he wouldn't take risks like that again. There was still something he needed to do though. So here he was. He watched as Mrs Julia Epps entered the cafe she had suggested for their meeting. An older version of Caitlin. He had barely noticed her on the plane, more intent on getting Roche away from the child. After the rescue he caught a glimpse of Mrs Epps being reunited with her daughter, then her on the news thanking the FBI for finding her little girl. She had wanted to thank the unnamed agent personally. The FBI tried to clamp down on the more un-heroic details, in full damage control - though Skinner informed Mulder off the record that he had discovered Blevins was weighing up the idea of exposing Spooky's act to the public so he would have more chance of getting rid of him. It was a question of how much damage it would do to the FBI's reputation. The prison administrators were not pleased that blame seemed to be landing on them - Roche's release was being painted as 'an escape'. Then media leaks revealed that the agent who tracked the killer down was the one who escorted him out of prison to hunt for a remaining missing victim. Alone. There was public uproar, but the agent's name was withheld. Mrs Epps was encouraged to sue. Skinner told Mulder that if she did, it could be all Blevins needed - it appeared he couldn't get rid of Mulder without that bit of extra leverage. Mulder was on suspension now and wondered when the lawsuit would be announced. And just who leaked the case details. Certainly enough suspects to pick from. For the ten billionth time, Mulder wondered what on earth possessed him to take Roche off on his own like that. He supposed almost all the other times he'd gone and done something stupid, he was the one who ended up suffering. Perhaps it made him complacent. Made him forget that slings and arrows find something else to hit when they miss the target. Or that the innocent *is* the target. He had allowed himself to be controlled by the pain of his loss and the promise of an end to the search. How badly he wanted that skeleton to be his sister, so he could finally grieve and take his life off hold. Yet the horror of her being dead, of all his beliefs being torn... He'd just wanted to *know* who the final girl was, one way or the other. He couldn't take it any more. He called Mrs Epps, knowing it could be the end of everything. Mrs Epps noticed Mulder. She walked towards him, determined but slightly tensed, turning her head to speak to the girl behind the counter in passing. "Hi Rhonda, I'm looking forward to that mudcake." /She's letting me know that *they* know her in case I'm up to anything. I can't blame her./ He wanted to put some money in trust for Caitlin, or give something towards her therapy but that could be construed as a bribe. He just wanted to do something. Mrs Epps had not slapped the FBI with a lawsuit. Yet. Lawyers were clambering to represent her. She only appeared on TV once after the uproar began. Just to say she was glad her little girl was back and she just wanted to get on with their lives. "Hello, Agent Mulder." He stood, showing his badge. "Thank you for seeing me." She gave a brief nod as they sat down. She was scrutinising him guardedly. "So your name is 'Fox'. When my daughter said you had a 'furry' name I wasn't sure if she was making it up." He got straight to the core of things. "I wanted to ask how Caitlin is...and to apologise for putting her in danger. It was all my fault." "She's had some nightmares. Sleeps with me a lot. We have a counsellor the FBI recommended. He's teaching her that if she feels upset or scared, she can imagine a place where she feels safe." /She should have appointments to play Barbies with her friends, Mulder. Not a shrink./ Mrs Epps fiddled with the menu. "So, you're the one who I should thank for rescuing Caitlin?" "I found her, but I'm the one who exposed her to the danger in the first place. I was escorting Roche by myself without the knowledge of my superiors." He silently included Scully in that lot. Way superior. "Roche was already in prison for other child murders, wasn't he? Going back into the seventies?" "Yes. Thirteen. The thirteen we knew of at the time." "All those poor little girls..." she said quietly. She looked directly at him. "You got him out without your boss knowing?" "I got a removal order. It was for...a personal matter. If things had gone to plan, I would have had him back in prison the day he kidnapped Caitlin." She scrutinised him very carefully. "And I understand that your profile was the one which led to his capture in the early nineties?" "Yes. I made a mess of this whole thing. I'm not here to threaten you or anything, just to let you know it was all my fault and I'm sorry." "What was the personal matter?" He swallowed and said nothing. Rhonda came to take their orders. Mulder selected at random, knowing it would all taste like sawdust to him. Mrs Epps continued as soon as she left. "Agent Mulder, I pride myself on finding out the facts before I jump to any conclusion." He was astounded by her calmness. "Can you tell me just what happened and why?" /I wanted to believe that aliens kidnapped my sister. I didn't handle it well when an alternative solution was offered./ When he struggled to reply, she said, "If it's a personal matter, it can't be official FBI business. But I doubt you could get a removal order for a prisoner without some solid reasoning. I've read the papers. The collection of sixteen hearts. Two of the missing bodies were uncovered two weeks ago. The final one is still missing and unidentified. His handiwork. Does that have anything to do with it? That is what I want from you. The truth. I believe I'm entitled." "That's what I'm searching for. It is both FBI business and personal." He could see her staring at him, feeling his pain. "*Your* daughter?" He shook his head and knew she was turning to the next obvious answer, stripping twenty years away from him. "Your sister." Her voice held realisation and sympathy. "You think one victim was your sister?" "Yes. No - I was hoping it wasn't her. I was...convinced she was kidnapped but not killed and that I'd always find her one day. It was a shock to have Roche suddenly throwing that belief in my face. He - he knew things I thought only the abductor could have known. I was wrong." He couldn't mention the dreams and the light. "But he said he could take me back through the incident. And to where he buried her." "How old?" "I was twelve; Sam was eight. I've spent my life looking for her." Their coffee came. As they sipped, Mulder regarded the woman across from him. She could have ranted and raved and rained lawsuits down on him, but she asked his side of the story. "Mrs Epps, thank you for listening to me. I wouldn't have blamed you if you hadn't. I'm surprised you asked. And I'm not telling you a sob story to stop you coming after me with the lawyers. That is your right." She stared into her coffee as if she could see a shipwreck at the bottom. "Mr Mulder, when Caitlin was a year old, I suspected my husband was having an affair. He had gone from a cheerful, open man to an evasive stranger. I thought it was because of me. Or the baby. He would say he was working nights, but I'd phone and get no answer. A few times I went to work during the day and he wasn't there. I followed him one morning. He went to the park and sat there for ages. I thought he was waiting for his mistress but she didn't show. I confronted him about it. The factory was in trouble and the corporation had been threatening to lay off staff for months - admin and floor workers. They had cut his hours back and it looked like they weren't going to stop there. He searched for other work, was in shock, spent hours wandering, trying to work out what to do. He couldn't handle it; didn't know how he'd support his family. The day I saw him in the park was just after he was sacked. He had a heart attack three months later. Died a few weeks after it." "I'm sorry." "So you see, Mr Mulder, I like to get my facts first these days. You brought my daughter back. Alive. I'm not sure just what to think about you doing what you did, but I know what it is like to have a loved one missing. The pain you must feel at your sister's loss. I can understand why you wanted to know. That's all I can give you. I hope you do find her. Safely." There seemed to be hearts everywhere he looked. Just like when you discover a word you've never heard before, then stumble over it four more times in quick succession. Hearts worn as lockets, as patterns on clothing, balloons, cushions, in Boston and the airport shops and on the plane. Scully was waiting for him at National Airport. As he approached he saw she was trying to read his face. He smiled and hugged her. In the car he told her about the stream of hearts. "Mulder, there are always a stream of hearts around us. People carry them - their own and others. They're not just motifs. Hearts are wonderful things which deserve to be shown over and over again. We can't let one maniac taint that, physically or spiritually." She pulled up at his apartment. He reached over and touched her hand on the steering wheel. His thumb traced a heart over the back of her hand. Then he smiled and got out, going up to his apartment alone, remembering the feel of her heart next to his. It was as close as they could get for now, though their hearts had been exchanged a long time ago. They had agreed to save these nights of closeness for times when he or she felt so shattered that only the other's arms could hold them together, or until it was finally safe to be open. But they knew the comfort was there when required. A few days later, Mulder completed his suspension and was back in the office. He stared at the wall. A replica of his poster was up in its usual place. "You've been busy." "I missed it." "Really?" "Yeah." She looked him directly in the eyes, and they both knew what they had really missed. "You need your beliefs, Mulder. You need to keep searching. With *me* along." Mulder smiled, nodding in agreement. He thought back to his "Humpty Dumpty" night - as Scully had described it the next morning - and what had transpired since. /All the King's horses and all the King's men couldn't put Humpty together again... No wonder! They should have brought in the women./ The shattered glass was all gone, the cabinet doors fixed. The dent was still in the filing cabinet though. /Put back together, but not quite the same. I hope I'll learn from the cracks./ They would keep looking for Samantha. And the sixteenth victim, whoever she was. He dug into his "share" of the paperwork - opening their mail. After dealing with several uninteresting letters, he picked up a thick 9x12 Manila envelope and stared at the postmark. His heart constricted and he tremblingly slit it open. Scully saw his face and stood up. She watched him pull out the contents. She saw his face pass through tension and guilt to wonder and finally, joy. "Scully...look at this." She came around to his side. Mulder was holding a crayoned picture mounted on a cardboard backing. Paperclipped to the top left corner was a small note: "Caitlin wanted to thank you for bringing her home." But her gaze was caught by the picture. The sky was a brilliant light blue, and beneath it was a glorious field of sunflowers... THE END.